


A Little Bit of History

by missmollyetc



Series: The Watch [2]
Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Infidelity, M/M, The Watch AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-09
Updated: 2010-05-09
Packaged: 2017-10-11 17:39:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/114942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missmollyetc/pseuds/missmollyetc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Falling in love is so hard on the knees.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Little Bit of History

**Author's Note:**

> This is for [](http://www.dreamwidth.org/profile?user=egelantier)[](http://www.dreamwidth.org/profile?user=egelantier)**egelantier** , who is Very Patient, and wanted something from the same universe as The Watch

Patrick didn't like this. He hadn't…this wasn't how his life was supposed to go. Not that he'd had a plan, since plans plus Pete generally equaled negative numbers, but he hadn't thought he was this sort of person; he really hadn't.

The line for airport security swayed forward a step, and Patrick tried to focus on how far back in the queue he was, how much time it would take to get to the gate, the way that Pete had felt underneath him, warm and hard and finally where Patrick could keep him close, but from under the brim of his hat, he could see Bob's beat up combat boots, the one's Patrick'd bought used for him at the Army Navy store on Michigan Avenue last Christmas because Bob was always burning through his regular shoes. He'd wear them out to nothing in three weeks flat, no matter what he was fucking doing. There was—he'd have to find someplace around Jersey wherever he…wherever Bob ended up crashing for a little. Geoff's house, probably. Geoff was a good guy, and Bob'd fit into the recording booth like he was running the boards at the House of Blues back home in Chicago, cool as fuck. At one point, Patrick thought he'd have to fight off the production groupies for his boyfriend's hon—his _ex-_ boyfriend. Patrick swallowed hard.

"You sure you're gonna stay?" Patrick asked.

"I think so, yeah," Bob said, evenly.

Bob had taken it all in his stride, though, the way he…the way he took everything, like he'd just…like maybe he'd seen it coming. Maybe he had—maybe he'd known, and that was why he'd just agreed to break up. Patrick rubbed the back of his hand across his mouth. His face felt hot under his knuckles. Maybe that was worse. Fucker could have told _him_.

"I just—I don't want to…it's a non-refundable ticket and shit and I can…switch seats with some—"

"I'm good," Bob interrupted.

Patrick jerked his stare up from Bob's boots. He caught a glimpse of Bob rubbing his hand over the rough blond stubble of his buzzcut, before their eyes accidentally met, and Patrick looked away again. Bob's eyes were red around the rims. Allergies. Bob had dust allergies. The airport wasn't all that clean, that was all.

"That's…that's good," Patrick said.

"Yeah."

Bob cleared his throat, and Patrick wanted to kiss him. Kiss him good bye, maybe, or… His heartbeat missed a note, stumbling over the sudden rush of adrenaline. He just—it couldn't just be _it_ like this, not when he'd—they'd-- _Pete_ hadn't…

"Patrick!" Pete shouted from behind him, and Patrick turned around.

Pete waved his arm over his head in a jerky arc, stretching onto his tiptoes. His faded red hoodie swallowed his body from his shaggy, dark head to where his knees poked out of his torn jeans. Patrick smiled, the corners of his mouth automatically pulling up, and took a step forward. Andy and Joe were already halfway through security, and Pete was waiting for him over by the boarding pass check-in.

"Have a good flight," Bob said, and Patrick flinched.

He turned back around, feeling his smile crumple into nothing. Bob's face was white, lips set into a thin line. He stuck his chin out, clasping his hands together in front of his stomach. Bob'd liked the set up at Eyeball when they'd recorded with Geoff, Patrick reminded himself, and…and he was…there was a good scene in Jersey. Good…people.

"So, I mean…" Patrick trailed off, tugging on his hat brim one-handed.

He shuffled his feet, and resettled his backpack over his shoulders. The safety strap across his chest dug into his skin a little, but he shrugged it off. Bob's fingers twitched. He reached out, hooking his thumbs underneath the strap, and smoothed it against Patrick's chest. Patrick's throat clenched. He swallowed heavily, and reached out just as Bob's hands withdrew. Their hands just missed each other.

"I _didn't mean to_ ," he said, rubbing his empty palms down to his waist. "It just happened."

Bob nodded. "I know," he said. "You told me."

Patrick closed his eyes. God, fucking…fucking God damn it. _Damn it_.

"You're gonna miss your flight," Bob said, and Patrick nodded.

"I'm not this guy," he told Bob.

There was a pause, and Patrick took a breath, braced himself for—whatever, but the pause turned into a silence, turned into crowd noises, and that wasn't right. Bob was quiet, but he said what he meant, and did what he needed to do, always, the sort of pragmatism Patrick'd had always wished he could have. He opened his eyes. Bob, hands in his pockets, was disappearing into the crowds.

  



End file.
